


HOGWARTS

by rewmariewrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Episodic Fic, Indian James Potter, Korean Sirius Black, McGonagall is a Good Teacher, Non-Chronological, Not Canon Compliant, Slow To Update, The Marauders - Freeform, Transfiguration (Harry Potter), and jk can pry them from my cold dead hands, authorial intent means nothing, canon is for suckers, i love these characters with all my heart, tags will be updated per episode, who really likes biscuits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 12:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rewmariewrites/pseuds/rewmariewrites
Summary: “You’re an Animagus, right Professor?” James pipes up, his dark forehead and brown eyes just barely visible over Sirius’ shoulder.Minerva takes a careful bite of her biscuit. She is suddenly very, very tired.





	HOGWARTS

**Author's Note:**

> based on that Witch, Please! episode where they talk about an HBO-style Harry Potter Universe TV show called HOGWARTS that is shot entirely from the POV of the Hogwarts professors
> 
> so there is going to be no update schedule for this b/c i am a sad undergrad trying to get into grad school, but it will be a long-term, open-ended, ongoing fic, so if you like what's going on here think about subscribing so you can catch any updates i will eventually make <3

      Minerva is not, contrary to all appearances (intended or otherwise), particularly strict. Does she like the rules? Well, they’re there for a reason, aren’t they? She is confident enough in herself to note that, while she is a _proud_ Gryffindor, she has far too much Ravenclaw in her to discount the benefit of the structure that rules provide, _especially_ as a teacher to hundreds of magical hooligans. Additionally, if she - as Head of Gryffindor House - would not uphold the rules of the school to the best of her abilities, who else would? Peeves would throw the school into anarchy in an instant, and it would be _entirely_ her fault.

      Then again, every moment holds potential benefit for her students, and it is important to know when bending the rules is the best way to help a student through a crisis. Often, giving a student what they ask for, even when it’s something small that one _really should_ refuse - like Restricted Section passes - is the best way to ensure that they will trust you with something more serious in the future.

      But right now, while _these three troublemakers_ are tumbling their way into her office, _literally_ tripping over each other in their haste to drape themselves over the two provided chairs (and, apparently, each other), she has a sinking feeling that they will not be pacified with simple passes to the Restricted section.

      Minerva lifts her head briefly when they enter, mostly to let them know that their presence has been acknowledged, before continuing with her marking. They seem to have a nervous, serious energy about them, even if they mask it well with personal barbs, small shoves, and laughter that is _just_ this side of too loud for her small office. Pointedly, she scribbles a mark at the top of her fourth-years’ parchment, before flipping it into the ‘Finished’ pile and grabbing another, along with a biscuit from her ‘Rewards’ tin.

      (That poor Weasley boy does  _not_ seem to be grasping Transfiguration at the level he needs to be if he wishes to pursue a career in the Ministry, which means she will need to speak to him about supplementary lessons. Which means she will need to _conduct_ supplementary lessons. _Eugh_. Idly, she flicks her left wrist in the direction of her quills and scrap parchment in such a way that they snap to attention and write the thought down before she forgets it - Flitwick is not the only professor proficient in Charms, after all.)

      When the boys in front of her are ready to speak, they will, and _only then_ will she stop what she is doing so she can listen to them with her undivided attention. They know this as well as she does - it is simply a matter of waiting for one of them to be _brave_ enough.

      They are _Gryffindors_ , after all.

      She has time to grade another entire essay - why she assigned an essay length of _twelve inches_ to a class of thirty students on the minutiae of animal transfiguration is beyond her, and she will _never_ do it again - before they finish quietly bickering and one boy speaks up.

      “Professor M, we have a question,” Sirius Black begins, from where he is sprawled across James Potter’s lap.

      That tone of voice is… suspicious. Minerva very carefully puts down her quill, grabs another biscuit out of the open tin, and looks directly at the young Black boy. To his credit, he does not wilt beneath her suspicious, narrow-eyed glare, just grins impossibly wider.

      “I had gathered you might, as you are _here_ , in my office, and not… elsewhere. Though, I suppose if you are all _here_ , you are not elsewhere causing _trouble_.” Maybe Minerva is being a little more flippant than she would be with another set of students, but the Marauders, as they call themselves, hold a very soft and special place in her heart. “What might your question be?”

      “You’re an Animagus, right Professor?” James pipes up, his dark forehead and brown eyes just barely visible over Sirius’ shoulder.

      Minerva takes a careful bite of her biscuit. She is suddenly very, _very_ tired.

      “Yes. I am listed on the Ministry’s Complete Registry of Animagi Forms as a Tabby Cat.”

      Sirius absolutely lights up. “So how did you go about _doing_ that,” he asks, leaning forward and almost toppling off James’ lap. It is only James’ quick reflexes that save him from sliding all the way down to the floor.

      “ _Hypothetically!_ ” James adds, with a little bit of a frantic look in his eyes.

      It is everything that Minerva can do to not close her eyes, lower her head to her desk, and sigh for the next thirty years.

      “ _Hypothetically_ ,” she begins, very carefully, after taking another fortifying bite of her biscuit, “I was a _highly trained_ wizard who had _already_ graduated from Hogwarts with high scores in both my NEWTS _and_ OWLS _._ I had also _already_ partially completed my Transfiguration apprenticeship under a world-renowned Master of the Transfigurational Arts. Discovering one’s animagus form is a requirement of attaining the Transfiguration Mastery.” She pauses for a moment. “Which most wizards do not do until they are _thirty_.”

      Peter and James are listening with rapt attention, but Sirius is making a face and speaking almost before she is done. “Yeah, okay, sure, but how did you _do it_. Like, the nitty-gritty stuff. Where did you find the potion recipe or the incantation or whatever?”

      “ _Hypothetically_.” Peter adds, quietly, from his chair.

      For all that the other professors seem to think that Sirius’ underperformance and attitude issues are a product of his upbringing (which they are) and a lack of drive (also true, conditionally), supplemented by a lack of talent ( _that’s_ where they’re wrong), Minerva is under _no_ such illusions. That Sirius is treating this subject with such casual flippancy means that the Marauders have already discussed and researched the topic to such a degree that they are _absolutely sure_ of what they are doing, and are only coming to her to cover their bases.

      Which means that they are all either _actively_ trying or _will soon be_ trying an extremely difficult, involved, and dangerous magical process that will literally irreversibly change their very beings.

      Minerva’s thought process - which already was teetering dangerously near panic - is interrupted by James’ quiet hiss at Sirius ( _“Merlin’s pants Sirius slow down, we forgot about the other thing! The more important thing!”_ ) before he straight-out asks, “Can werewolfism be transmitted to a person if their Animagus form is bitten, but not their human form? Like, say, if you were to _hypothetically_ happen upon a werewolf in the woods while you were a cat and you got bit, would you become a werewolf?”

      Minerva needs a drink. Maybe two - honestly, she has not had this kind of stress-headache building behind her eyes since her Transfiguration apprenticeship, and that was _four straight years_ of tears, intensive research, and imposter-syndrome. Three boys in her cozy office at Hogwarts are _as stressful_ as the most tumultuous years of her life _to date_.

      The boys _obviously_ know that Remus is a werewolf. That question was too pointed, and their stares are too defiant (as if they are _daring_ her to call them out) for them not to know. She’s not surprised about _that_ ; she is surprised that it took them _so long_ to figure out a way to help him through the full moons. She’s _also_ surprised that they went for _the most dangerous option_ (is she _really_ , though, because they _are_ all Gryffindors, here) rather than asking how Wolfsbane Potion is made, or some other similar endeavor.

      She takes a deep breath, opens her mouth to speak, then decides that she had better have just _one more_ biscuit. She needs some time to organize her thoughts, and she’d really rather put this off for as long as possible. Thank _Merlin_ these boys are considerate enough to be speaking in hypotheticals (though she also knows that Sirius absolutely doesn’t care about her ability to plausibly deny this conversation, and she respects that).

      “Werewolfism _cannot_ be transmitted from a werewolf to an animal, and so the logic follows that an Animagus’ animal form _cannot_ contract werewolfism. I also believe that an Animagus’ human form will not contract werewolfism if their animal form is bitten, but that is something I have been attempting to research for quite some time, and thus has not yet been _proven_. As it is _extremely dangerous_. Unfortunately, the human form is often too delicate to heal from the trauma of the wounds of a werewolf attack, irrespective of the disease, so any exposure to a werewolf would be _best_ conducted _in animal form_.” Minerva is _very careful_ to stress that last part.

      All three of them nod, grave-faced, and she knows they understand. They may ignore the warning, but at least they understand.

      “Professor, you are the light of my life. You know so many things, it’s _crazy_.” Sirius is leaning forward with his elbows on the very edge of Minerva’s desk, propping his chin on one hand, with metaphorical hearts in his eyes.

      Minerva leans back, just slightly. “Mmm. That _is_ what a comprehensive education provides, Mister Black,” she says, dryly. She takes it all back, the Marauders (especially Sirius) are more trouble than they’re worth and she is not fond of them _at all_.

      But then Sirius grins, and she sees in him (in _all_ of them, really, in Sirius’ earnest, unashamed grins, and Peter’s bright high laughter, and James’ fierce concentration, and Remus’ few, quiet, _small_ smiles) the closest thing to a son she will ever have, and her heart melts a little.

      “ _Hypothetically_ ,” she starts (and James and Sirius all but _whoop_ with joy while Peter grins quietly in the corner), “if I _were_ to look into helping a _responsible, qualified_ student with their Animagus transformation, I would let them _borrow_ \- **_borrow_ ** , mind you, this is my _personal_ research - the third book from the left on the bottom shelf of the bookcase nearest the window. I would also recommend a _very responsible_ student to ask for permission to enter the Restricted Section of the Library to take _very detailed_ notes on the _Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_ and _Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration._ At that point, the process should be clear to any _hypothetical_ student that may wish to find their Animagus.”

      The boys are grinning at her with all but worship in their eyes, and Minerva will be drawn and quartered if anyone ever finds out she enabled this. She just… can’t _quite_ manage to say no. Not when they are sitting here, so earnest, so _capable_ (because no matter how much she loves them, if she thought there was _even a chance_ that they would _really_ hurt themselves doing this, she would _shut it down_ ), and so genuinely ready to do whatever is necessary to help their friend, no matter the cost to themselves.

      “Thanks, Professor!” James grins, standing and dumping a squawking Sirius directly onto the floor before rushing out of the room. Sirius doesn’t bother to thank her, just grins quickly at her - eyes crinkling up to almost closed - as he scrambles to his feet and chases James out the door. It is Peter who lingers behind, just for a moment.

      “Really, thank you Professor. We appreciate it a lot.” He says, quiet and earnest and not quite able to make eye contact.

      Minerva finally allows herself to sigh. “Take a biscuit on your way out, Mister Pettigrew.”

 

~

 

      Three months later, Minerva has _almost_ successfully eradicated the memories of that night from her brain when the three of them come tumbling back into her office.

      (She was _not_ expecting them, she _wasn’t_ , because they were _definitely not_ doing what she _thought_ they _might,_ _hypothetically_ be doing -)

      They do not need to screw up their courage this time, apparently, because as soon as they are done arranging themselves in the proffered chairs (James on Sirius’ lap, this time), James speaks up, lisping suspiciously.

      “Professor, we have another question.”

      Minerva has her biscuit in-hand already, ready to fortify herself with the sweet relief of chocolate at a moment’s notice. “Yes, Mister Potter, I had gathered that, as you have already made yourself _quite_ at home in my office.”

      “Awe Professor,” Sirius says, muffled and almost invisible from where he is hidden behind a little-bit-taller James, “You love it when we crash your office hours.”

      “Mmm,” is all she says to _that_.

      “How do you get the _awful_ taste of mandrake leaves out of your mouth without, you know, dislodging them from under your tongue? Also, how do you keep your spells from going weird because of the lisp it gives you?”

      “ _Hypothetically_.” Sirius and Peter offer, in unison.

      Minerva sighs, wishing desperately for a hot cup of tea. Or some whiskey. Or both. It is going to be a _long_ process for these boys to turn into Animagi, and she is a _fool_ if she thinks they won’t drag her into every single part of it.

      Not that she would have it any other way, of course.

 

~

 

      At the end of the thirteen months it takes to successfully turn into an Animagus, Minerva is _certain_ that her nerves will _never_ recover from the strain.

      But this time, when they enter her office, there are four of them. And this time, they do not _tumble_. They are quiet, though not subdued, and Sirius and James share a chair like always, while Remus takes the other chair and Peter sits on the floor between them, content.

      She does not have the patience to wait for them to speak, this time. She is already on her second biscuit, fingers twitching towards a third. “So, gentlemen?”

      “Thank you, Professor.” Remus says quietly, not quite meeting her eyes. There is a shaky sort of courage on his face, like he didn’t expect the support that has (hypothetically) been offered to him, and in that moment her heart is _so full_ of love and admiration for all of these brave boys.

      “Why, I have no idea whatsoever as to what you are referring, Mister Lupin. I simply answered some _hypothetical_ Transfiguration theory questions for your friends.” She feigns innocence, sniffing delicately but pointedly, and gets a guffaw out of Sirius for her troubles.

      “Peter, can you give her the thing?” James asks from his spot underneath Sirius.

      Peter grins widely at her and places a (poorly) gift-wrapped item on her desk, with a tag that proclaims it has been gifted to her from _Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs_. With an arched eyebrow, she picks at the Spell-O-Tape on the tag and sets it delicately aside, before tearing into the paper itself.

      What they’ve given her… honestly, it makes her tear up, a little.

      “Professor?” Sirius sounds _genuinely_ concerned and more than a little panicked, and it makes Minerva laugh wetly before she (not so subtly) wipes at her eyes with a handkerchief she magics out of a sleeve.

      “Take a biscuit, boys. Take two.” _She_ is _not_ crying, _you_ are crying.

      (“ _Two biscuits”,_ Peter whispers reverently _. “OhsweetMerlin, we broke her_ ”, James whispers back)

      Placed slightly crookedly inside a neat red-and-gold picture frame is a wizarding photograph of what she can only assume is James, Sirius, and Peter. A stag prances in place on the far left of the photo, its two-pronged antlers still velvety with fuzz. A large, slightly gangly long-haired black dog sits, widely grinning, tail wagging, with a grey rat clinging desperately to the top of its head. Remus is in the middle of all of them, one hand buried in the dog’s thick fur, grinning wider than she’s ever seen, waving wildly at the camera.

       Alright, so _maybe_ , _possibly,_ Minerva is crying, a little. She props the photo carefully on her desk, takes a deep, shaky breath, and gropes for another biscuit. She doesn’t take a bite, but the action soothes her all the same, and by the time she’s ready to look up the boys have their own biscuits clutched in their hands and their eyes are more-than-slightly panicked. It would be adorable if they hadn’t just made her cry _and_ taken almost all her biscuits when she specifically said _two_.

      “You four are the most infuriating, talented, disobedient, _gifted_ students I have ever had the _distinct pleasure_ of working with. You have made me _very_ proud, but I have also been _very_ stressed, and so I am glad that our little game of hypotheticals is over. _Please_ , for the love of all that Merlin has ever accomplished, go to Professor Flitwick with your insane ideas next time.”  

      A chorus of “yes, Professor”s light up the room as the boys all but flee, but Sirius lingers for a moment longer than the rest.

      “Don’t worry, Professor” he says, grin a little predatory, “we’ve already been to see Flitwick. There’s going to be a _map_.”

      Minerva just sighs, lowering her head to rest gently in her hands, and she hears Sirius’ laughter echo in the hall for a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr at: and-still-not-a-ginger.tumblr.com!
> 
> please please feel free to send me prompts or art or even just say hi, i would love it a lot
> 
> posts about this fic can be found under the tags #progress check and #HOGWARTS


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